


Footling

by diemarysues



Series: A King and her Burglar [8]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, F/F, Female Bilbo, Female Thorin, Pregnancy, yeah actual pregnancy this time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-22
Updated: 2013-04-22
Packaged: 2017-12-09 05:12:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/770358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/diemarysues/pseuds/diemarysues
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Looks like Bilbo ended up agreeing to Thorin's suggestion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Footling

**Author's Note:**

> Direct sequel to [Contribution](http://archiveofourown.org/works/750437). If you've read no other fic in this series, at least read that one before this.

Despite being confident of a positive reaction from her wife, Bilbo was still nervous as a mouse when she joined Thorin in their sitting room. The King was reading through her personal correspondence in her favourite armchair by the fire, and didn’t look up when Bilbo came in.

 

Bilbo, pale and clammy, went to pour herself a cup of tea. With her back to Thorin, she felt a little braver. A little. She inhaled deeply as steam and the accompanying fragrance of jasmine rose from the cup. “Thorin?”

 

“Hmm?”

 

“Are you busy?” She added a spoonful of sugar. Only half of it ended up in the teacup.

 

“…why.”

 

A small shard of annoyance wedged into the base of her skull at the blatant suspicion in Thorin’s voice. Never mind that it was probably justified. Bilbo stirred her tea a little too loudly. “I thought that I could speak to you.”

 

She heard Thorin put her papers aside. “Bilbo, what’s going on?”

 

A breath. And then another. Then a third. She watched the two white jasmines in her cup dance round and round each other, swirling and twirling in the tea. “Can I tell you tomorrow?”

 

Thorin’s hand suddenly clamped onto her shoulder, whirling Bilbo around. Her wife loomed over her threateningly, and Bilbo unconsciously shrank back against the table. “If you think I will allow you to do that after you’ve gone and worried me –”

 

Bilbo bared her teeth in a not-smile. “If you think you can disallow me from anything, I suggest you think again.”

 

“When you insist on being an idiot, maybe I _should_ be making decisions for you!”

 

That cut. She furiously blinked tears away. “Oh, _yes_ , because that worked so well the last time!”

 

“Damn it, Bilbo!” Thorin slammed a hand onto the table, rattling the crockery on the tray and making Bilbo jump. Some tea slopped out of the cup. Neither of them noticed. “You will tell me what’s wrong!”

 

“I think I’m pregnant!”

 

“Well then, why didn’t you –” Thorin reared back, looking like she’d been hit over the head with something heavy. Her eyes were wide. “What?”

 

Bilbo sighed and pressed a shaking hand to her face, rubbing the side of her nose. She hadn’t meant to… she’d gone and planned what she was supposed to say, only she’d gotten so breathlessly _angry_ and –

 

“…Bilbo?”

 

Ohh, how did Thorin go from caustically angry to heartbreakingly woeful in the span of two seconds? Her eyes especially were as pale as moonstones, and bore into Bilbo’s soul as easily as an Elvish blade through flesh. It was about as painful as being stabbed, when it came down to it.

 

“This’s the second time I’ve missed my monthly bleeding.” She sighed again, suddenly unable to meet Thorin’s gaze. “And I’ve been to see Óin yesterday, he – he said that it was, um, very likely because I’m otherwise healthy and – Thorin!”

 

Alarmed, Bilbo’s hands reached down to touch Thorin’s face and shoulder – reached down because the King had fallen to her knees. Near-frantic, Bilbo couldn’t see any sign of outward injury, but that was hardly any sort of consolation –

 

“Thorin, please, what is it –”

 

“You’re… you’re with child.”

 

Bilbo bit her lip. “Yes. Most likely.”

 

Thorin’s hands trembled as she raised them, but she didn’t rest them against Bilbo’s belly. Her eyes, when she glanced up, were now bright and sharp, like the metal-blue of Sting. “You still… want a child with me, don’t you?” Bilbo had never heard Thorin being tentative before, but this seemed like the closest she’d come to it.

 

Her face crumpled. “Of course I do, you stupid Dwarf!”

 

Desperate relief flooded Thorin’s features, and she gently pressed her palms to the rounded stomach before her. According to Óin, Bilbo wasn’t yet ‘showing’, but the fact remained that a little Dwarf-Hobbit was growing _inside her_. By her expression, this prospect had also occurred to Thorin, equal parts elated and vulnerable.

 

“I love you,” she said. “I shouldn’t have shouted.”

 

“You shouldn’t have said those things you said.” Bilbo lightly tugged on a braid. “And I should’ve just told you straight.”

 

Thorin (reluctantly) rose to her feet, enfolding Bilbo’s hands in hers. Brushing a kiss against her wife’s forehead, she murmured, “We need to communicate better.”

 

Bilbo laughed. “While I’d be happy to reduce our arguments, I really don’t think that’s a feasible option.”

 

“Too stuck in your ways?”

 

“Thank you,” she replied with dignity, “but I think it’s Dwarves that are set in stone.”

 

“And Hobbits are as constant as the earth.”

 

Her wife would have replied smartly, except she suddenly found her feet swept out from under her. Bilbo’s arms went automatically around Thorin’s neck and she glared. “Thorin, I haven’t had my tea.”

 

The King shook her head and shifted Bilbo into a more comfortable position. “Leave it.”

 

Bilbo rolled her eyes as Thorin started walking. She leaned against one strong shoulder. “Why have you made me waste it?”

 

“Dear one, we’ve just received happy news, and it shall not be celebrated with _tea_.” The disgust in Thorin’s voice was so empathic that the Hobbit in her arms had to laugh. “I’m taking you to bed.”

 

* * *

 

When the door opened, Thorin looked up from repairing her greaves to watch Bilbo stumble in. Brown curls clung to her forehead and she held an embroidered handkerchief to her mouth.

 

“If you tell me I look beautiful,” Bilbo warned, voice muffled, “I will smack you.”

 

“Wasn’t going to say a word.” Thorin levered herself off of the bed just as Bilbo settled into it. “Would you like a boiled candy? Or shall I send for ginger tea?”

 

“A sweet, please.” She sighed and pressed the heels of her palms to her temples, her cheeks flushed. Thorin secretly thought that her wife _did_ look beautiful, so there. “Why did I agree to this?”

 

“One would hope because you wish to start a family.” Thorin brought the whole bowl of candy to Bilbo’s bedside, leaning down to peck her forehead. “And because you love me. That’s still true, is it not?”

 

“Shut up.” Bilbo grumbled under her breath as she unwrapped a sweet and popped it into her mouth. She tugged the covers impatiently up to her chin and glared at the ceiling.

 

Thorin didn’t smile. “If it’s any consolation, I am more than willing to take your place.”

 

The glare now focused on her. “Come here.”

 

Bilbo groused when Thorin climbed into bed and flapped the covers to settle them, complaining about the cold air. Thorin made it up to her by tucking Bilbo against her body; the Hobbit had always fit neatly (and happily) under her chin and in her arms.

 

“We agreed.” Bilbo fit the sweet between her teeth and her cheek so she could speak clearly. “You can hardly bear a child when you’re so busy rebuilding your kingdom.”

 

“Yes. But perhaps in a few years I could try.”

 

Cool fingers slipped under Thorin’s shirt. “Let’s focus on this one first,” Bilbo said softly. She traced nonsense patterns on the King’s skin. “We have to make sure we can actually handle a child.”

 

“I know I can,” Thorin said haughtily. “I’ve handled two Dwarflings that were born only five years apart.”

 

“There’s a difference between being an aunt and being a parent.”

 

“I am aware.” Her tone was dry as she stroked Bilbo’s back. “But all we can do is see how it goes.” Thorin was quite aware that her words were considerably more logical than her thoughts; she worried every day that she would be a terrible mother and fervently wished that their child would take after Bilbo. At least then she or he would grow up to be well-rounded instead of selfish and gold-hungry. Perhaps Thorin should never bear a child. She would never forgive herself if she passed on the curse of Durin’s line –

 

Thorin startled at a loud cracking sound.

 

“Did you just –”

 

Bilbo serenely continued crunching her sweet. “Was taking too long. Besides, my nausea’s mostly gone.”

 

“Not completely, though.” Her hand slid up Bilbo’s thigh, rucking up the smooth silk nightdress she wore. “You should sleep.”

 

“I’m not suddenly delicate because I’m carrying our child, Thorin.”

 

 _Our_ child. Thorin ducked her chin to place a kiss on Bilbo’s sweet lips. “I don’t think anyone could ever accuse you of being delicate.”

 

“Not that they don’t try.”

 

“This is why I tell you to carry your Sting with you.”

 

“You’ve gotten me to carry a dagger; I think that’s more than adequate.” Her fingers slipped downwards.

 

Thorin stifled her groan. “Bilbo…”

 

Her wife nuzzled her blunt nose against the underside of Thorin’s jaw. “ _Thorin_ …”

 

The Dwarf shoved Bilbo flat against their bed and set about licking the sugar from her mouth.

 

* * *

 

“Auntie!” Fíli cried, throwing himself onto the squishy sofa next to Bilbo and making her bounce a little.

 

“Cousin!” came Kíli’s shout as he slid to a halt by Bilbo’s feet, hands already on her swollen belly. “How are you today?”

 

“You know you don’t have to shout, right?”

 

“How else will my little cousin hear me?” Kíli asked, his eyes wide.

 

Fíli snickered as their burglar-auntie leaned back a little and solidly kicked Kíli, making him yelp. He wrapped his arm around her shoulder. “How come you’re so sure it’ll be a boy, Bilbo?”

 

“I just am.” She shrugged. “My mother told me once, long ago, that Hobbits _know_ that sort of thing. I used to think it was twaddle, but… it’s true. Your Aunt’s quite happy about it, seeing as she already knows how to deal with baby boys.”

 

“Yeah, but Mother thought for ages and ages that I was going to be a girl, and I most certainly am not,” Fíli pointed out.

 

Bilbo shook her head stubbornly. “It’s a boy.”

 

Kíli cradled one of Bilbo’s feet in his large hands. “Either way, you realise this means we’ll be stuck with babysitting duty, right?”

 

“Don’t even pretend you’re not looking forward to it, Kíli.” She rolled her eyes and leaned her head against Fíli’s shoulder.

 

“I think the whole Company will vie for a chance to look after the little prince,” Fíli pointed out, deliberately nudging Kíli with the toe of his boot to annoy him. Kíli didn’t rise to the bait.

 

“Just what I need. Twelve overprotective fathers.” Despite the annoyed tone, Bilbo failed to suppress her smile. The image of the Company clamouring around Thorin’s and her child was an endearing one… even if potentially dangerous. She’d best make sure that their son adopted Hobbit manners instead of Dwarvish ones.

 

“Look at it this way, Bilbo –”

 

“More willing babysitters –”

 

“Means more alone time –”

 

“For you and Thorin.” Kíli smirked, even as he continued rubbing gentle circles into the sole of Bilbo’s left foot.

 

She sighed and leaned more heavily against her older nephew. “For Dwarves who complained for months about that time in my rose terrace –”

 

The younger of the two princes clapped his hands over his ears, dropping Bilbo’s foot onto his lap. “Please, no!”

 

“We don’t speak of the Garden Incident. Not ever.”

 

Now it was the Hobbit’s turn to smirk. “Whyever not, boys?”

 

“I didn’t stop having nightmares about Thorin’s furry bum for weeks –”

 

Kíli made a protesting noise. “Did you _have_ to bring that up, brother?”

 

Bilbo, who was quite fond of Thorin’s furry bum when all was said and done, felt insulted on her wife’s behalf. “Don’t you two have somewhere to be?”

 

“Yes,” came a new voice. “They do.”

 

Two Dwarf princes and a Hobbit looked up at Dwalin, who stood with his arms crossed over his broad chest. His expression was disapproving.

 

“We just wanted to visit our Auntie before the guild meeting,” Fíli protested.

 

Kíli nodded emphatically. “Surely that’s allowed.”

 

Dwalin jerked his thumb towards the door. “Get.”

 

They sighed, getting to their feet, and forlornly chorused, “Bye-bye, Auntie Bilbo.”

 

Bilbo smiled, despite the fact that her little one had apparently decided that now was the best time to remind her that he was present. She pressed a hand just under her belly-button, hoping he’d calm a little. “See you at dinner.”

 

After they’d shuffled out (both wearing piteous expressions that were of no effect), Bilbo turned to Dwalin. “I hope you didn’t go to too much trouble looking for them.”

 

“This’s the first place I looked,” Dwalin said, smirking. “They’re quite predictable, are Fíli and Kíli.”

 

“Perhaps to you.” A little despondently, Bilbo rotated her ankles. Kíli’s foot rubbing had been appreciated, but it’d been too short. Perhaps she could bully the both of them after dinner…

 

“Um, Bilbo?”

 

“Yes?”

 

“Can I –?”

 

Despite wanting to, Bilbo didn’t sigh and protest that her belly wasn’t public property now that she was pregnant. She’d learned early on that Dwalin was rather endearingly shy about certain things and that once he thought that his conduct was disapproved of, he’d never do it again.

 

She patted the cushions next to her.

 

Dwalin’s hand was huge and scarred and tattooed, and spanned comfortably across a large area of her tummy. Bilbo smiled at the intense concentration on his face that gave way to blatant horror once the kicking started up again.

 

“No, no.” Bilbo pulled his hand back. “That’s normal,” she said soothingly. “He’s a strong kicker.”

 

He grunted, relaxing enough to gently push against the babe’s foot with his finger. “He’ll be a fighter, then.”

 

“He’ll be whatever he wants,” Bilbo replied pointedly.

 

Dwalin tipped his head slightly but said nothing. His attention was focused on the almost violent movement under his hand. Bilbo winced a little.

 

Neither noticed that Thorin was leaning against the doorway, watching them fondly.

 

“Do you know when he’ll be born?”

 

“Óin’s best guess was midsummer.”

 

* * *

 

It wasn’t summer.

 

Bilbo refused to sit down.

 

“It’s too soon,” she moaned. “Too soon.”

 

Thorin, helping to support Bilbo, shot a sharp glance at Óin. He shrugged. “For a Dwarf birth, she’s right. But I dinnae know much about Hobbits.”

 

“Then _learn_.” Not known for having an even temper at the best of times, Thorin felt aggravated. Not only because of the onset of Bilbo’s apparently too-early labour, but by the fact that fresh rushes were strewn across the floor of the lying-in room. The scent may have been calming to Bilbo, but Thorin was just annoyed that every time she walked, she scattered the loose herbs even further.

 

If – in a few years – she was ever pregnant, she’d make sure to order the floor clear of _everything_.

 

Óin, not bothered by Thorin’s irritability, sent one of his runners out of the room (presumably to fetch something), before going to Bilbo and pressing his hands over her distended belly at several specific positions.

 

His frown was worrying.

 

“What is it?” Thorin demanded, wincing a little at the distressed noise Bilbo let out.

 

“The babe hasn’t turned.” He caught the King’s look, and continued, “The head usually comes out first – _usually_. But sometimes, like now, the feet or the knees or the arse emerge first and –”

 

“Will it harm the child?” Even the mention of the possibility made Thorin uneasy. She could barely find it within herself to be grateful that Bilbo couldn’t see her facial expression. “Tell me.”

 

“There is a possibility. But even if the babe was in proper position, and even if Bilbo had gone into labour later, there would still be a chance of –”

 

“I do not want to know about _chances_ , I want –”

 

“Thorin.” Bilbo didn’t turn to look at her. “Help me walk.”

 

It was more of waddling than walking, but the task did help calm Thorin down – which, she was sure, had been Bilbo’s intention all along. “Are you sure you should be up and about?” she asked Bilbo, not quite ready to deal with Óin.

 

“I want to walk,” Bilbo said simply. She squeezed Thorin’s hand gently, cradling her pregnant belly with her other hand. The Dwarf found herself struck – not for the first time – by how Bilbo seemed to be lit by some inner radiance. Her hair was pulled back into a single braid and she wore a loose sea-green shift that made her eyes shine.

 

“You’re not in pain?”

 

Her laughter was short and sharp, more like a bark. “It’s bearable.”

 

Thorin’s grip tightened a little on Bilbo’s waist. “You could take something for it…”

 

“I’m fine, Thorin.”

 

The King was disinclined to believe her; no one concentrated that hard on breathing if they weren’t in tremendous amounts of pain. But she was aware that if she continued pursuing that line of thought, Bilbo would be very displeased and would be vocal about that displeasure. So Thorin turned her face towards Óin.

 

Her voice was steadier and less hostile when she tried again. “Is there anything you can do?”

 

“I can try to help the babe turn around.”

 

“ _How_?”

 

“There is a way,” Óin replied patiently. “Bilbo will have to lie down, though –”

 

“Can’t,” Bilbo grunted. Her fingers were making a valiant effort to crush Thorin’s. “Not enough time.”

 

“I think I’m a better judge of such things than you, Bilbo,” Óin said sternly. “This is your first birth, but it is not mine.”

 

“I think – I think that I would know when my little one wants out, Óin.” Her reply was full of the expected tartness, although tinged with exhaustion. “I also think I’d like to squat down now.”

 

Thorin crouched down alongside her. “What do you need?”

 

“I need –” Bilbo took a breath. “I need our son out of me.”

 

“Thorin,” Óin said sharply, “stoke the fire. I need the room warmer.” He scowled at the door. “And where is Gwella with my water?”

 

Reluctantly leaving Bilbo in the middle of the floor, Thorin hurriedly chucked several pieces of firewood into the flames. Behind her, Óin creakily went to his knees so he was on the same level as Bilbo.

 

“How are you feeling?”

 

“I feel like –” Bilbo stopped herself, and when Thorin glanced back, she was biting her lip. Her face was completely scarlet. Thorin frowned, even more when Bilbo covered her mouth and whispered into Óin’s ear horn.

 

Óin’s face cleared. “That’s fine. That’s the babe moving through – Gwella! Finally! Put the water on the table and get the pillows off of the bed. Come along, come along, you’ve dallied long enough.”

 

“What are you going to do with the pillows?” Thorin asked, watching Óin’s runner pile them into her arms.

 

“They’re a precaution. Just on the floor, there,” Óin directed, before turning to Bilbo. “Lass, I need you to get on the bed.”

 

“Don’t want to,” Bilbo muttered crankily, and the set of her jaw reminded Thorin vividly of stumbling upon her wife threatening Dwalin with castration as soon as her labour had started. Nori, who’d also been present (and separately threatened), had been stunned silent. She grimaced.

 

“Not to lie down,” the healer soothed. “But it’ll be easier for your boy. Come on, just sit at the edge here, and put your feet on the mattress as well. Thorin, help her.”

 

Getting Bilbo upright was a struggle (considering that the Hobbit was doing all in her power to _not_ cooperate), but they finally had her positioned. Thorin kneeled on the bed behind her, supporting her.

 

Óin kneeled on the floor before Bilbo, his sleeves pushed up his arms. “You’ll have to push soon,” he instructed, and set his hearing aid aside. He’d need both hands free, Thorin guessed.

 

“Thorin,” Bilbo said urgently. “Thorin!”

 

She ran a comforting hand down Bilbo’s arm. “What is it, dear one?”

 

“Tell me –” A bead of sweat ran down her temple. “Tell me I’m beautiful.”

 

Thorin almost laughed. Oh, how she loved her burglar. “You, my wife and consort, are beautiful.” She kissed the skin behind Bilbo’s ear. “You’re incredibly, unfairly, disgustingly beautiful.”

 

“Alright.” Bilbo swallowed thickly. “Alright. Just… just hold me?”

 

“Always.”

 

* * *

 

Days later and Bilbo was still amazed that there was a tiny thing lying on her chest which, when stared at, _stared back_.

 

Even though she and her son had been deemed healthy and even though she was able to walk freely, Bilbo chose to remain in bed this morning (or was it afternoon?). A tiny fist closed and opened around her forefinger, and she smiled and smiled until her cheeks hurt.

 

“You look like a loon.”

 

“I see you’ve conveniently forgotten what you looked like when you first held him.”

 

Thorin prudently didn’t reply to this, instead lying down on the bed beside Bilbo, propping herself up on one elbow. She placed her hand on their babe’s back.

 

“Hello, child of mine.”

 

“Child of ours,” Bilbo said snootily.

 

Thorin rested her chin on a fist. “You made him, dear one.”

 

“We both made him.” She placed her free hand against her wife’s cheek. “He is _our_ son.”

 

And Thorin smiled back.

 

“You know,” she said, pressing her nose against Bilbo’s hair and nuzzling gently. “Our Company are insisting we announce his name at dinner tonight.”

 

“We most certainly will not.” She was looking forward to being with all their friends (and family). It’d be the first time since the birth that she’d see them all at once. Each had visited individually or in small groups (Óin’s orders, reinforced by a glowering Thorin), and every single one of them was wrapped around their son’s little finger. “I’ve already made it clear –”

 

“That your traditions dictate the naming ceremony happens on the next new moon. I know, dear one. I’ve told them.”

 

“And you can continue telling them, because I’ve no doubt they’ll keep insisting.” Her scowl had no heart in it, especially as she started tickling their son under his lightly furred chin. Rather incongruously, the hair on his head was straight despite his typically Hobbity feet.

 

“They mean well.”

 

“They can still be irritating while meaning well. Isn’t that right, my darling?” This was directed at the babe on her chest, and Thorin was hard-pressed to remain unaffected.

 

“I still cannot believe this is real,” she whispered.

 

“It’s real.” Bilbo rose a little to kiss Thorin firmly (and their boy startled a bit at the change in position). “Oh, it’s _real_.”

**Author's Note:**

> Don't speak to me. I know too much about childbirth now, and it's put me off even more than I'd been.
> 
> BUT STILL THIS IS SO CUTE TO ME. DAMN FEM!BAGGINSHIELD.
> 
> Unbetaed. Thanks to [daemonwildcat](http://archiveofourown.org/users/daemonwildcat) for putting up with my questions, you rock.
> 
> (P.S. 'Footling' is in reference to the type of breech birth Bilbo has.)


End file.
